


Actions Speak Louder

by quartzguts



Series: bad things happen (mostly to noct) [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Brain Damage, Brain Injury, Concussions, Episode Ignis Verse 2, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Touch-Starved, for the epilogue at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22226485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartzguts/pseuds/quartzguts
Summary: A concussion results in Noctis losing both his sense of smell and taste. He doesn't handle it well.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Series: bad things happen (mostly to noct) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1550269
Comments: 9
Kudos: 124
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Actions Speak Louder

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for bad things happen bingo, for the prompt brain damage. this is probably the least intense way i could have interpreted the prompt, but this idea hooked me and would not let go  
> also: how medically accurate is this? eehhhhhh it's... i did some research, okay...? i promise ;w;

Noctis’s head hits the ground hard.

One moment he’s in the air, having been thrown by a particularly angry dualhorn, and the next he’s slamming down onto a pile of rocks. His skull smacks against the edge painfully, and for a brief, blissful moment he can’t feel anything. Then the feeling hits. Noctis can’t do more than gasp as pain explodes behind his eyelids, his vision blurring at the edges. He can’t tell if the lights in the sky above are stars or phosphenes, can’t tell if his eyes are opened or closed. Faintly, he can hear the sound of Gladio shouting, a gunshot going off, a spell being cast. Metal hitting rock as another MT goes down.

They’d appeared just as as the hunt commenced, right before nightfall. Noctis had gone out expecting a few daemons - and now that they’re strong enough to take on the iron giants, goblins and flans are nothing, really - but _of course_ the empire just had to come along and make things complicated. Noctis had been focused on taking out the MT assassins and their dangerously sharp swords when one of the ‘horns had snuck up on him. He’d been launched into the air before he even realized what was happening.

He blinks, and then the sounds of battle are gone and Ignis’s worried face is looking down at him. Did he pass out? Last he remembers, there were quite a few MTs left plus the dualhorns and a few flans, but now the night is peaceful and the moon is higher in the sky than Noctis remembers it being before. He groans, shifting around, trying to sit up. Strong hands (Gladio’s, he realizes belatedly) push him back down. He can feel Ignis petting around in his hair. It’s such a nice feeling he almost falls asleep, but the avalanche of pain when Ignis touches the injury has him screaming instead.

Prompto is saying something to Gladio, but Noctis can’t make out the words. Ignis pushes his hair aside to peer at the wound. He leans close, and Noctis thinks he’d appreciate having Ignis’s chest shoved in his face more if his stomach wasn’t suddenly threatening to force up everything he’s ever eaten.

“Gonn’ throw up -” he rasps, and Gladio helps tilt his body to the side just in time. Their lunch from just a few hours earlier comes up first, followed by bile. The taste of it across his tongue isn’t as vile as it should be, probably, but maybe that’s just because he’s still teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. Noctis is just thankful that he’d listened to Ignis’s nagging earlier and had water with lunch instead of soda.

When he finally stops heaving, another set of hands come to rest on his back. Prompto rubs his shoulders soothingly as Ignis continues to poke at the wound. “That looks bad, man. You with us?”

“Yeah,” Noctis coughs, before another spell of dry heaving takes him. He tries his best not to move too much, lest he bump his head back against the rocks and make it all worse. The pain is down to a throbbing ache on the back of his head, and his scalp feels sticky with blood. Still, Noctis is sure it can’t be too bad. He’s had worse.

“I can’t tell much with the blood obscuring the wound,” Ignis says, “but I believe this is more than a concussion. Hi-elixir now, please.”

“Godsdamn, how is he even conscious?” Gladio says, handing over the bottle. Ignis breaks it over Noctis’s head, and although the pain doesn’t completely go away he can feel the wound stitching itself back together.

Ignis shifts back. Noctis wants to reach out for him, draw him closer, but he can’t find the strength in his limbs. “For better or worse, Noctis has always been hardy. You know that, Gladio.” He sighs. “This is the third head injury he’s had since we left Insomnia.”

Gladio groans. “Don’t remind me. Noct, you’re killing me here.”

“C’mon. ‘M still’live, arn’ I?” Noct says. His throat is painfully sore from the vomiting. “Specs, please, jus’ -”

Ignis shushes him. “I believe it’s safe to move him. It wouldn’t do for us to be attacked by daemons while Noct is injured. In the mean time -” a standard potion breaks over his head, and Noctis could cry at the tender relief it brings “- this should help stifle some of the pain.”

Noctis tries to thank him, but all that comes out is a whimper. Gladio eases him into his arms. “Steady now, princess. Let’s get back to camp, where it’s nice and safe.”

Noctis hums. Someone brushes the hair out of his eyes. He’d never admit it - he knows he’d get terrified looks at best and an intervention at worst - but he kind of likes getting hurt like this. He isn’t a masochist by anyone’s standards, but having Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto take care of him afterwards feels so _nice_. It reminds him of his dad, of days in Insomnia after the Marilith, when his chronic pain had been worse and his immune system was weaker than most children’s. Those lazy afternoons spent with his dad holding his hand and feeding him soup had been the last times he’d been able to touch someone so freely. He kind of misses it.

Well, okay, he misses it a lot. He thinks he has the right to. After all, Ignis is just as reserved as he is, Gladio isn’t a touchy-feely kinda guy, and Prompto limits his “physical affection” to slapping Noctis’s ass to get his attention. They aren’t a necessarily affectionate group of friends, and it’s not like Noctis has anyone else who wants to cozy up to him.

He hears the others talking amongst themselves, but his consciousness is floating away again. He snuggles into Gladio’s chest and almost whines when his Shield responds by jostling him awake.

“You can’t sleep yet, Noct,” he says. “Wait until we’re back at camp so Iggy can finish looking over you.”

“Wann’ sleep _now_ ,” Noctis groans.

“Well, at least we know his personality hasn’t been altered,” Ignis says.

Noctis thinks he falls asleep anyway. Either that or he’s losing time, because one moment they’re walking around in the darkened wilderness of Duscae and the next they’re stepping into the blue light of the haven’s runes. They’d already set up camp earlier in the day, so all there is to do is light a fire and get dinner ready.

Noctis’s stomach restricts at the thought of food. Gladio gently sets him down in a camping chair and Ignis comes back into view, reaching around Noctis to poke at his head. He lets himself indulge and leans forward, resting his forehead against Ignis’s collarbone. Ignis huffs as whispers “focus, please,” as he presses his fingers back into Noctis’s hair.

This time, when Ignis touches the place where he’d hit his head, there’s only a dull ache centered around the pressure. Noctis doesn’t need Ignis to tell him there’s still an awful bruise; he can feel it already. It’s likely going to be black and ugly for a while, even with the hi-elixir and potion’s help. Ignis hums, satisfied, and pulls away.

“Alright, Noct, I need you to do some things for me,” he says, and Noctis groans and gets ready to start the thirty minute long _what’s your name and birthday_ , _can you move all your limbs_ , _answer this math problem_ test that’s unfortunately always necessary with concussions and the like, even if they use a potion immediately.

“There doesn’t seem to be any lasting damage,” Ignis says once Noctis has passed the test with flying colors. “You’ll need plenty of rest for the next few days. I suggest we stay here the night, then head back to civilization tomorrow morning. Noct would do best with a proper bed to sleep in.”

“Sounds good to me,” Prompto says.

Noctis forces his eyes open, blinking against the brightness of the fire. His vision keeps shifting, and he feels dizzy, like he’s been spun around by one of the carnival rides he used to like as a kid. “Sure ‘m good? Feel bad.”

Ignis frowns. “Head wounds are tricky injuries. The hi-elixir should have healed the wound, but it’s likely your brain will take some time to catch up.”

“Ugh,” Noctis groans. “Wann’ throw up, but there’s nothin’ ‘n my stomach…”

“Have some water. Least if you throw up that, it won’t taste bad.” Gladio passes over a bottle, and Noctis manages to drink it on his own. Gladio’s words make him realize his mouth should still taste awful from the vomit, but it’s like there’s a layer of ash coating his tongue; he can feel the ick on his teeth and gums, but it’s all just tasteless mush. Noctis swallows down a few gulps of water before another wave of nausea hits and he slumps over, clutching his stomach.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Ignis murmurs. Noctis takes his hand gratefully and lets himself be led into the tent. Ignis takes his sweet time rolling out a blanket for Noctis to lay on, along with a few soft sweaters for a pillow, and makes him lie on his side so there won’t be direct pressure on the back of his head. When Ignis moves to leave, Noctis grabs his hand and pulls him back in.

Ignis smiles at him. “Your retinue still needs to eat, Highness.”

“Don’ care,” Noctis says. His eyes flutter closed, heavy, then open again. “Stay?”

“Alright.” Ignis settles down next to him. Noctis wiggles closer, shuddering as the cold night air touches his skin. Ignis runs a hand up and down his exposed arm, coaxing warmth into it. Noctis sighs at the rare gift of cuddling with his boyfriend. “Are you still in any pain?”

“No,” Noctis murmurs. He buries his face in Ignis’s chest and takes a deep breath, trying to milk this moment for all it’s worth.

Ignis chuckles. “Need I remind you we’ve been running around hunting beasts all day without taking a break to bathe? I’m sure I smell awful.”

Noctis’s nose crinkles on instinct, but he doesn’t actually think Ignis smells that bad. There’s an underlying scent of sweat and blood, sure, but compared to the way Gladio stinks after a good training session, Ignis smells wonderful. “‘S fine.”

Ignis pulls him closer and places a soft kiss on his forehead. “If you say so, Noct.”

Noctis falls asleep, feeling secure.

\---

He knows it’s late when he wakes up the next morning. The light shining in through the tent’s walls is that of the midday sun, not the orange and pink hues of dawn. Noctis yawns and stretches, accidentally bumping his head back against the sweater pile serving as his pillow. He winces and brings a hand up to feel the damage. The bruise doesn’t feel as hot as it had the night before. It stings when Noctis touches it, but there’s none of the all consuming pain he’d felt when the injury had happened. It seems to be healing fine, just like Ignis had said it would.

Noctis sits up and almost immediately regrets it. The movement sends another wave of nausea through him, and he grabs his stomach, trying to will the acid to calm down and stop trying to eat through him. That’s the issue with head wounds, he thinks bitterly. Mess with your brain, and it messes with every other part of you as revenge. His stomach gurgles, and Noctis sighs, forcing himself up all the way. Maybe food will help.

He stumbles out of the tent. Ignis is already up, and Prompto and Gladio must be, too, though they aren’t at camp. Ignis turns away from the portable stove when he hears Noctis approach, and quickly sets down his pan to attend to his prince. Boyfriend. Prince-boyfriend.

“How are you feeling, Noct?” Ignis asks. “Better? Worse? Just the same?”

“Better,” Noctis says. “I’m hungry, though.”

“I’m not surprised, given you didn’t eat dinner last night.” Ignis scoops a healthy serving of scrambled eggs out of the pan and hands the plate over to Noctis. He takes it over to one of the camping chairs and sits down to dig in.

“I tried a slightly different seasoning this time,” Ignis says. “Tell me what you think.”

“Sure will,” Noctis says. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, waiting to be hit with the ever so delectable scent of breakfast, and…

And nothing.

He frowns, glancing over at Ignis, who’s turned back to his stove, and sniffs again. The scent _is_ there, just very faint, like he’s smelling something at a distance. The sensation wavers, too, edging in and out of his sensory perception. He shakes his head and focuses back on breakfast. Maybe he’s just more tired than he thought.

The first bite he takes tastes like absolutely nothing.

Noctis chews through the eggs, which feel greasy and unpleasant without the oily taste to support them, and takes another bite. There’s a spark of flavor there, somewhere, but it’s overpowered by the sense of absolutely _nothing_. He tries a few more bites, and every mouthful feels like a chore. Every time he chews it’s just mush sticking to his teeth and tongue, and he has to fight the urge to spit it out and push the plate away.

“How is it?” Ignis asks. The question doesn’t have any of the hesitation it had once carried, and for good reason. Noctis has loved every dish Ignis has cooked or baked for years now. Even dishes heavy on the vegetables, or with spices that Noctis doesn’t like, still taste pretty okay. It’s been ages since Ignis made something Noctis genuinely hated.

Well, it was bound to happen one day, he supposes.

Still, Noctis can’t bring himself to tell the truth. Maybe Ignis just didn’t use enough herbs this time, or the eggs themselves were bad. Noctis can’t hurt Ignis’s feelings or confidence because of one fluke after years of flawless performance. He swallows down his mouthful, the egg not nearly chewed enough and sliding slowly down his throat, and says, “it’s really good, but I think I prefer the other way you make these.”

“I see. I’ll go back to adding milk, then, and change up the spices.” Ignis doesn’t sound hurt, and his shoulders don’t tense at all as he continues to clean up the stove. Noctis sighs in relief. He forces himself to eat the rest of the eggs, knowing he’ll need to eat regularly if he wants his nausea to fade, and passes his plate along for Ignis to clean. At the very least, his stomach is settled. All he needs now is to brush his teeth and he’ll be good to go.

Gladio and Prompto come back a few minutes later. Both of them have wet hair and dirty towels thrown over their shoulders. They must have gone on a run, then taken a bath. Noctis sniffs at himself, but although he’s still covered in dirt and dried blood he doesn’t think he smells too bad. He can probably take a few more minutes to relax before he heads down to the river himself.

At least, he thinks he can, but when Prompto runs up to him he slaps a hand over his nose and rears back. “Woah, dude, you stink!”

“Do I really?” Noctis asks, confused.

“Like a behemoth.” Gladio claps a hand down on his back. “Want one of us to go with you down to the river?”

Noctis’s brows furrow. He stands up, testing the feeling of being on his feet. There’s no nausea this time, and his vision is clear, so he’s probably fine. “Nah, I’ll be okay. I’ll be back in ten.”

“Sure you don’t want me to go with you, Noct?” Ignis asks.

Noctis can guess what he’s thinking; Prompto and Gladio don’t really understand the full extent of why Noctis is shy about showing off his body. Years of serious conversations with his dad and etiquette tutors about what is and isn’t proper princely behavior made it very clear that public nudity is _never_ okay, even when he’s only taking his shirt off around his closest friends. That shyness had never really existed with Ignis, given they’d grown up together, but suffice it to say it isn’t the same with his Shield and best friend. Here, Ignis is offering him an escort in case he genuinely does feel out of it, and is just shy about Gladio or Prompto helping him bathe.

That isn’t it, though. Not this time, at least.

“I’ll be fine,” he reiterates, and catches the small bag Gladio tosses at him.

As he walks down towards the river, he raises his arm and sniffs again. He still doesn’t think he smells _awful._ Sure, he’s sweaty, and kind of gross all around, but the scent is so faint he doesn’t even know how Prompto smelled it from over a foot away. He shakes his head as he reaches the river, giving a cursory glance around before tugging off his clothes.

He bathes quickly but thoroughly, paying extra attention to the places where sweat likes to linger under his clothes. He’s gentle with his hair, being careful not to bump his head around any more than he has to. When that’s all done and he’s toweled off and dressed in clean clothes, he walks a little bit upstream, dunks his toothbrush into the water to wet the bristles, and squeezes out a ball of toothpaste onto it.

That’s when he really starts to think something might be wrong. The usually blisteringly strong taste of peppermint that comes with his cavity-fighting toothpaste is dulled down so much Noctis almost can’t taste it at all. He takes his time cleaning the remaining eggs out of his teeth, but even when he adds more toothpaste to the brush the dull taste doesn’t grow any stronger. In fact, it seems to weaken, eventually becoming the same unbearable taste of nothing that the eggs had been earlier. When he finishes brushing and spits the toothpaste out into the water, there’s barely a change in the way his mouth tastes. It’s cleaner, yes, and he can feel the absence of the gunk on the backs of his teeth, but there’s none of the pleasant after-brushing taste. None of that minty freshness Noctis has come to savor after weeks of backtracking through the woods and going days without bathing.

“Okay, what the hell,” he mutters, tucking the bag back into the Armiger and picking up his dirty clothes. Looking at them, they should smell disgusting - the black fabric hid most of the stains when it was dark out, but in the light of day there’s no denying that they’re completely and utterly gross. But even when Noctis presses his face into them, they don’t smell like much of anything. Nasty, yes, but subdued. Far away.

He shakes the remaining water out of his hair like a dog and slips the dirty clothes into a particularly heathenous section of the Armiger they all like to call the Nasty Room, where His Highness and his retainers store their dirty clothes and gunked up weapons until they can find the time and place to clean them. Even opening it briefly to dump more crap into it usually releases a whiff of what can only be described as the dirty socks of the entirety of the Kingsglaive _and_ the Crownsguard, but Noctis doesn’t smell anything as the clothes disappear.

“So, maybe I hit my head worse than I thought,” Noctis says nervously to the woods. How bad does a brain injury have to be to fuck with someone’s senses? He doesn’t have actual, permanent brain damage, does he?

He tries not to panic too much as he heads back into camp. Ignis had said he was fine, and it’s not like he doesn’t feel okay. The nausea is gone, and so is the dizziness; his hearing and vision are fine; his head barely hurts anymore when he touches it. It’s probably nothing. He can just mention it casually to Ignis, and his ever intelligent retainer will let him know that this is perfectly normal and okay, and will wear off in just an hour or two.

It’ll be fine.

\---

Noctis meant to tell Ignis about his fucked up senses, he really did, but the morning had completely slipped away by the time he’d gotten back to camp, and in between Gladio teasing him for taking thirty minutes instead of ten and Prompto asking for help dismantling the tent, he’d lost his chance to talk to Ignis. Now they’re all packed into the Regalia, and Noctis feels like he just _can’t_ say anything about it. Gladio is reading his romance novel again, Prompto is flipping through the photos he’s taken over the last few days, and Ignis is actually humming to himself as he drives. Everyone looks so peaceful, so excited to be heading back to the chocobo ranch for some well earned rest, that Noctis just can’t ruin it. Besides, he knows Gladio will yell at him for hiding something like this - lasting symptoms of an injury after a curative has been applied are usually bad news - and Noctis not only doesn’t want to deal with that, he also doesn’t want to worry Ignis and Prompto any more than he already has.

Yeah, he likes being taking care of in the moment, and it’s a fond memory to look back on. He doesn’t like the ensuing guilt at having scared his friends yet again, though.

And besides that, what would they even do about it? The injury was last night. An extra potion now won’t do anything, and if this was just a weird status condition it would’ve worn off already, so remedies are useless, too. Their only recourse would be to take him to a clinic or hospital, and _gods_ does Noctis _not_ want to do that. On top of hating hospitals - a result of both his time spent in them after the Marilith and his dad making regular trips to the Citadel’s medical wing during his youth - they can’t risk his identity being exposed. So instead of saying anything, Noctis sinks down further into his seat and pulls out his phone. He angles himself away from Gladio so he can’t see what he’s doing, and moogles _lost sense of smell and taste after brain injury_.

The results are surprisingly informative. Apparently, taste and smell are very interconnected senses, so when one of them goes the other one usually does, too. Brain damage (Noctis’s stomach drops when he reads that, and he has to firmly remind himself that even mild concussions are still _brain injuries_ that cause _brain damage_ , and this isn’t necessarily permanent) can result in both senses getting messed up.

He reads one article, written by a doctor, which very patiently explains the medical science in easy to understand vocabulary. Noctis skims over most of it since the hi-elixir already took care of the actual injury, and he can’t really follow certain pieces of advice like _go to the hospital_ and _avoid the outdoors_. Towards the end of the article, he reads something that makes his blood run cold.

_These symptoms may last for quite some time after the injury heals. If the patient’s smell and taste have not returned after a full year has passed, it is unlikely they will return at all. In this case, ageusia and anosmia can impact the patient’s life significantly. Impacts include -_

Noctis stares at the article, trying to rearrange the words so they make sense. A _year_ ? He could have to wait a _year_ for his senses to come back? A year of not being able to taste Ignis’s food?

He gulps and takes a deep breath in through his nose. He knows the air surrounding them should smell like flowers, the sweet and fresh scent only an untouched forest can have, but he can’t smell anything. Is it getting _worse_? Surely not, Noctis thinks - how would that even work?

He forces himself to calm down before his panic becomes noticeable and alerts the others.

That forced calm begins to crack as he keeps scrolling through the results. Eventually, he finds an ask thread by a person suffering from lack of taste and smell two months after a car crash. _Two months_. The responses are full of other people who’ve had similar injuries, talking about how much they miss smelling flowers and tasting their favorite foods. He sees time periods of one month, six months, a year. Someone who permanently lost both senses over a decade ago. This particular comment gives him hope, as the man says his senses came back partially around a year and a half after his concussion, but _holy shit_. A year and a half without two of his senses. What the fuck.

Noctis knows he should be grateful. Head injuries can be nasty. He could have ended up with much, much worse than just this. Shit, if he had to choose one of his senses to ax, smell would be the one; that’s like, the easiest answer to the most boring _would you rather_ question of all time. Actually having it gone, though? It’s a particular kind of sadness Noctis isn’t sure how to deal with. It reminds him just a little too much of waking up after the Marilith, confused as to why he couldn’t move his legs.

The thought centers him. The memory of fire and smoke reminds him that he’s been through worse, and he can get through this, too.

Besides, he has worse problems to face, he thinks as Ignis pulls up to the ranch and slows the Regalia to a stop. He likely won’t be able to hide this for very long; he has to find some way to tell the others before they notice. If they realize he’s suffering from lasting symptoms of a brain injury and didn’t tell them about it, he’ll be in line for the ear lashing of a lifetime. They all jump out, and Noctis takes a deep breath, ready to fess up.

The words he’s planning die on his tongue the moment Ignis turns to him, though.

The thing is, in the three years he and his boyfriend have been dating, they’ve been remarkably _un_ affectionate. Casual gestures of affection? Gods forbid, _PDA_? Nope. Noctis and Ignis were both raised with the highest standards of propriety in mind. Technically, they were never supposed to be dating at all, with Noctis needing to be available for an arranged marriage whenever the council felt like it. His dad had fought for their right to be together, and Noctis will always be grateful for it. Even with the king’s blessing, though, they’ve always tiptoed around each other in public (and yeah, a little bit in private, too) out of habit. Shying away from touch is second nature to them. That’s just how royalty and nobility are, sometimes.

Which is why this is such a huge problem. Ignis has always shown Noctis his love through cooking; Noctis knows this, Gladio and Prompto know it, even his dad had known it. It’s very easy to tell that Ignis thinks of cooking as an expression of love. If Noctis can no longer taste his food, then… well, Ignis might feel like he can’t show his love anymore. Or that Noctis is rejecting him, somehow. Or something. It sounds so very stupid when he tries to put it into words, but that’s just how it feels.

Noctis’s gaze snaps back up from where it had been resting on the ground when Ignis leans slightly closer, still staying at a respectable distance. The willingness to touch from last night is gone, along with the worst parts of his injury. “Noct, are you alright?”

“Huh? Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Ignis’s brow raises at the defensive response. “I asked you if you’d like to go with me to see if Wiz has any more chocobo related tasks for us. Are you sure you’re fine?”

“Yep, I’m one hundred percent.” He forces a yawn, hoping it looks genuine. “Just a little tired.”

“Hmph. Lazy,” Gladio says teasingly. Noctis lets loose a dramatic huff, intentionally drawing it out.

“Very well. If you’re sure,” Ignis says. Noctis nods. “Shall we go, then?”

Gladio and Prompto head for the caravan while Noctis follows Ignis to the dining area. He takes his time eyeing the ranch as they pass through it. The first time they’d been here, his delicate city-boy’s sensibilities had been overwhelmed by the stench of manure and chocobo feed. No matter how many times they dropped by, he always noticed the smell, and scrunched up his nose at the way it stuck to his clothes for hours after they left. This time he doesn’t smell it at all. He unexpectedly misses it. The space feels empty without it there. He keeps dwelling on the absence, even as Ignis talks to Wiz.

He only snaps back when Ignis turns his voice towards him. “It appears Wiz doesn’t have any urgent tasks for us. Why don’t you go rest up at the caravan? I believe Prompto and Gladio have already rented it for the day.”

“Sure,” Noctis says, because he needs more time to think and pretending to sleep sounds like a great way to do just that.

Prompto and Gladio are sitting out in front of the caravan, and thankfully don’t follow him inside. Noctis shutters the windows and crawls onto one of the small beds, pulling the blanket close around him. He can’t smell the sheets, even though he can tell from the wear on them that they’re old and should at least have _some_ sort of scent clinging to them, for better or worse. Noctis closes his eyes and tries to think.

He has to tell the others. Even if it’ll break Ignis’s heart to not be able to cook for Noctis (or at least, not be able to cook anything he can taste), it’s not something that he can hide. No, losing his sense of taste and most of his sense of smell isn’t a huge deal in the grand scheme of things, but it could be important down the line, and if he doesn’t speak up now Gladio will rip him a new one over it later.

He must drift off, because he when he wakes up there isn’t much light coming through the blinds and Prompto is sitting on the edge of his bed. “Awake, sleeping beauty?”

“Fuck off,” Noctis groans, but he’s up now and not drifting off again. He reaches back to touch his head; the potion had sped up the healing, and now the bruise is completely gone. The skin is sore, but there’s no sting of pain. A spark of hope hits him full force; maybe he just needed to give the curatives time to heal him up completely. His senses could be back to normal, now. He just needs to go outside, where he can smell or taste something.

He sits up, ignoring Prompto’s laugh at his sluggish movements, and does his best not to look too excited as they leave the caravan. On the way out, he notices a tray of something covered by a kitchen towel, but ignores it in favor of matching Prompto’s quick pace. Ignis greets them with a smile as they settle down at the plastic table under the caravan’s overhang, and sets four plates down.

Noctis can’t smell the sandwich any better than he could smell the sheets earlier. He smiles nervously. If his sense of smell is still gone, that’s fine. Maybe his taste will be better.

“This is new,” Gladio comments as he observes the high stacked sandwich. “What’s in it?”

“Garula sirloin and ham,” Ignis replies. “And I’ve prepared something else for dessert.”

“Woah, dessert?” Prompto says as he picks up his sandwich. “You never make dessert.”

“I was able to procure some baking ingredients earlier, along with access to an oven,” Ignis says. “But if you want dessert, you have to actually eat dinner.”

“Yessir!” Prompto says. Noctis tries to match his enthusiasm as he bites down.

There’s nothing. Just the texture of meat and bread in his mouth. It doesn’t feel as bad as the eggs did, but there’s still no taste, and without it the whole mouthful feels off. Noctis’s stomach flips, but he forces himself to keep eating.

He keeps quiet throughout dinner, focusing on eating and trying to look like he’s savoring the meat heavy dish. Eventually, when they’re all almost finished, Ignis says, “so? Thoughts?”

The question means nothing, just like the question about the eggs earlier. Ignis likes to know what they think of his food so he can improve and do better next time. Noctis knows that, but Ignis’s words still make him heavy with guilt. “It’s great, Specs,” he says instinctively.

Gladio purses his lips. “Really? I was thinking the meat was a little dry. Under-spiced, too.”

“Yeah, same here,” Prompto says.

Noctis’s blood runs cold. They’re going to notice. They’re so, so going to notice. “I think it tastes fine,” he says, trying not to sound like he’s forcing each word. “I mean, everything Ignis makes tastes good.”

Luckily, that does the trick. “You’re right about that,” Gladio says. “I definitely couldn’t make anything better.”

Prompto laughs. “Me, neither! Ignis’s worst is better than our best.”

“You flatter me, truly,” Ignis says. “I _suppose_ you’ve all earned dessert.”

Prompto fist bumps the air. “Whoo! You hear that, Noct? Dessert time!”

“Yeah,” Noctis says, trying to swallow the quickly growing lump of panic in his throat.

He completely shuts down when Ignis goes into the caravan and returns with the tray he’d seen earlier, loaded with pastries. He sets them on the table with a flourish. Noctis can just barely pick up a wave of sweet smelling jelly before it fades away and he’s left with a world that smells very chiefly of nothing.

He takes the pastry and bites into it. The texture is pleasant, at the least. The jelly is nice to chew, and so is the crust. He eats two of them, methodically tearing off one bite after another, chewing, and swallowing. When he’s done, he makes a show of licking the crumbs off his fingers.

Ignis regards him while he eats. Noctis knows he’s waiting for the answer to that years-old question. He should tell the truth - he’d decided he was going to hours ago - but the words catch in his throat again and he ends up swallowing them down with the remains of the pastry.

“Not quite,” he says, the same answer he always gives. “But it’s still good.”

Ignis’s fond smile fucking shatters Noctis’s resolve. He’ll tell him later, once Prompto and Gladio go inside. Ignis has known him for longer than anyone; he’ll understand why Noctis didn't say anything. He hopes. He owes Ignis an apology for lying, too. Noctis settles back in his seat, breathing through his nose, hoping it'll all come back before Gladio and Prompto go to bed so he doesn't have to fess up to how much of an idiot he's been.

It doesn't.

\---

Predictably, Ignis stays up as late as Noctis does. Twenty minutes after Gladio and then Prompto had gotten up to go to bed, he stretches and moves to stand.

“Can I talk to you?” Noctis says suddenly. He curses himself again for waiting so long to say anything.

Ignis replies “of course,” and drags his chair over to sit in front of Noctis. Noctis gulps nervously and folds his hands in his lap. He can tell Ignis is getting more tense the longer he keeps quiet.

Just when Ignis starts to say “Noct, what -” Noctis blurts out “I lied to you earlier.”

He finally hazards a look up at his boyfriend. Ignis looks startled. Noctis notices that, sometime in the two hours since they had dinner, his hair had started falling out of his carefully sculpted style. Noctis bites his lip.

“You lied about… what, exactly?”

“The… food,” Noctis murmurs. “I couldn’t…”

Ignis interrupts him with a breathy laugh. “Oh, Noct. You mean you didn’t like the new recipes?” He gives him a smile that’s far too fond. “That’s quite alright. I appreciate honest feedback. It lets me improve upon my cooking skills further.”

“That’s not it,” Noctis says. “I couldn’t _taste_ them. I haven’t been able to taste anything since this morning.”

Ignis’s expression turns sharp. His hands are on Noctis’s face, angling his chin up so they’re looking each other in the eye. Noctis feels incredibly stupid for having thought it was nice when his friends were worried about him. This feels awful. “What do you mean you can’t taste anything?”

“I just can’t. I can’t smell much, either. Like, the scents are too faint. I can’t focus on them.” He sucks in a shuddered breath. “I looked it up, earlier, and it seems like this is kinda normal for concussions and brain injuries and stuff. And it might… it might not ever come back. I don’t know.”

“Noctis. _Noct_. Why didn’t you tell me?” Ignis looks more concerned than angry, which is… good, but confusing. It’s not like Noctis wants to be yelled at, but he deserves it. Why isn’t Ignis pissed?

“I realized after breakfast. And then I wanted to tell you, but there wasn’t a good time and I didn’t want to make you worry, so… and then I fell asleep and when I woke up I was going to tell you, I swear, but we had dinner and I didn’t want to upset you by saying I couldn’t taste anything. I’m sorry.”

“What the - _Noctis_.” There’s the anger Noctis was expecting. Ignis takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose, sucking in a harsh breath. “Please tell me you were not so concerned with hurting my feelings that you kept the fact that you’re experiencing latent concussion symptoms a secret.”

“I’m sorry,” Noctis murmurs.

“I just - this is - Noctis, you cannot possibly be _this_ childish!” Ignis puts his head in his hands and leans forward. Noctis wants to reach out and take his hands, but that invisible barrier that keeps him from reaching for Ignis forces him back. “You do know your safety is more important to me than anything, don’t you? And do you truly believe our relationship is so fragile it could be damaged by you _not liking_ my cooking?”

“I don’t dislike your cooking,” Noctis says immediately, wincing even as the words come out.

Ignis gives him one of the most desperate looks Noctis has ever seen on him. “Noct.”

“Look Ignis, I know, okay? I know you’re like me, and we’re both… we’re both bad at showing affection.” Noctis feels his cheeks color at the confession. He’s as bad as talking about his feelings as he is showing them, but this isn’t something he can leave unsaid. He thinks about all the things he could’ve told his dad, and he just _knows_ in case, gods forbid, anything ever happens to Ignis, he _can’t_ keep refusing to say things. “I know you show your love through cooking. You always have, ever since we were kids. Like, I don’t know how to describe it, but so much of _us_ is wrapped up in you cooking for me and me eating it and loving it and loving _you_ , and I know it sounds really stupid out loud but I didn’t want to fuck that up somehow. I’m sorry.”

Ignis stares at Noctis, mouth open in shock, before his eyes light up with a feeling so intense it makes Noctis flinch. Before he can ask what he said wrong, Ignis grabs his face in his hands and kisses him hard.

Noctis leans easily into the kiss, grabbing Ignis’s wrists with his hands and just relishing in the warmth there. When Ignis pulls back, he says, “Noctis Lucis Caelum, you will never keep something like this to yourself again, do you understand me?”

“Yeah,” Noctis murmurs.

“Good. Now, we unfortunately cannot do anything about this. Your sense of taste and smell may come back, or they may not, but either way it will take some time to tell. For now, we are going to bed, and we shall tell Gladio and Prompto in the morning.”

“Gladio’s gonna be pissed.”

“I doubt he’ll be as angry as the time you concealed a stab wound from us.”

Noctis frowns. “That wasn’t my fault! We didn’t have any potions or first aid kits left.”

“Yes, and you nearly bled to death. Not your finest moment, Highness. Now,” he stops talking for a moment to lay a kiss on Noctis’s brow, “as for us. I’m well aware that what you said just now is quite true. It will be… difficult, I wager, for us to grow more affectionate, but if that is what you need to feel secure in our relationship, I am quite willing to try.”

“Oh,” Noctis breathes. Somehow, he’d always thought that Ignis, reserved and elegant _Ignis_ , would never be okay with doing regular couple stuff. He can’t even imagine it. “Can we hold hands and stuff? In public?”

“Hardly anyone knows us out here, and even then I do not believe Lady Lunafreya would mind if she saw candid photos of us together.” Ignis punctuates his words with another kiss, this time to Noctis’s cheek, and Noctis’s eyelashes grow heavy with contentment.

“Yeah. She already knows about us, so.” He blinks hard, trying to force himself to stay awake. His head is swimming with the warm weight of Ignis’s thumbs stroking over his cheeks. “Um. What are we talking about, again?”

Ignis chuckles. “You look exhausted. We’ll talk more in the morning, alright?”

Just when Noctis thinks he couldn’t be more in love. “Yeah. Okay.” He leans on Ignis a little as they get up and head for the caravan door. “I liked the texture, by the way. Of the pastry. It was really good, somehow, even though I couldn’t taste it.”

“I see. I’ll keep that in mind,” Ignis says. There’s a softness in his voice that stays with Noctis until he falls asleep.

\---

Epilogue

As the first dawn the world has seen in ten years fades into midday, the four of them gather in what’s left of the dining halls in the Citadel to celebrate. Ignis had stored away some scavenged ingredients there just before they’d gone to fight Ardyn, and now he’s busy baking up a storm while Prompto and Gladio tell Noctis all about the events of the past decade.

“So, let me get this straight. You had _ten years_ to make a move, and you never confessed to Cindy.” Noctis leans back in his seat. “Wow, man. That’s pretty pathetic, even coming from you.”

“Hey, come on!” Prompto says, dramatically feigning hurt. “Maybe I’m content with what we have now.”

“What you _have_ is a delivery job you do for free,” Gladio says. “Prom, you’ve gotta let the lady know how you feel eventually.”

“What if I back you up?” Noctis says, grinning. “Just like before. You’ll do fine, I’m sure.”

Prompto groans. “You guys are gonna ruin it...”

Noctis laughs weakly, looking down at his hands. There’s a lot of things he’s feeling right now, and all of it tells him this isn’t the time to be laughing or making shallow jokes. “I… you know, guys, I do understand what it must have been like. Or at least, I can guess. I want to apologize, for making you wait -”

“Noctis Lucis Caelum,” Ignis says as he makes his way over with a platter. “You’d better not be apologizing for something the gods did.”

Noctis bites the smile on his lip. “Um. No?”

“Good.” Ignis sets down the plate and sits down next to Noctis. Their thighs touch. Noctis instinctively leans closer, eyes closing in contentment.

Gladio snorts as he grabs a pastry off the tray. “They look good, Iggy,” he says. “Where’d you even find the ingredients? Thought flour was impossible to get these days.”

“I improvised with other goods,” Ignis says. He folds his hand into Noctis’s under the table. “I’ve been working on this recipe in my free time for some time now, trying to get everything just so. I believe I’ve come up with a decent recipe, given that most ingredients for baking are difficult to come by these days.”

“I’m sure they taste amazing. They smell really good,” Noctis says absentmindedly, snuggling into Ignis’s side. He can suddenly feel three gazes locked onto him, and he cracks open his eyes. “What?”

“Noct, you can smell them?” Prompto asks.

It takes Noctis a minute to digest the words. When he does, he bolts up, eyes on the tray in front of them. He takes a big whiff, and - “I can!”

Gladio pushes the tray across the table. “Try one.”

Noctis wastes no time doing so. The flavor of the jam and crust is faint when he bites into it, weaker than he remembers taste being, but it’s _there_. “Holy shit, I can _taste_ it, too!”

“A curious development,” Ignis says around a grin. “I wonder, is this the result of the injury simply healing over time?”

“Could be," Prompto says. Noctis barely acknowledges the conversation as he devours his pastry and reaches for another one. “Woah, slow down there, Your Majesty, you’ll make yourself sick.”

“I spent ten years in the Crystal without eating anything,” Noctis says around a bite. “It could’ve come back within the first year and I wouldn’t have noticed it.”

“You didn’t seem to notice during dinner last night,” Gladio says. He pulls the tray away as Noctis reaches for another pastry, having finished his second. “Come on, leave some for us.”

Noctis brushes the crumbs out of his beard and thinks. “I think I did actually taste something last night, but it was so faint I thought I’d imagined it.” He turns to Ignis, grinning, and Ignis matches it with a smile of his own. “Babe.”

“Yes, Majesty?”

“I love you.”

“This is the grossest display of PDA I’ve ever seen, but I guess the two of you have earned it,” Gladio sighs, pointedly looking away as Noctis covers Ignis’s face with kisses. He raises a pastry. “To the dawn.”

Prompto grabs one and raises it, too. “To His Majesty, Noctis Lucis Caelum!”

“To you,” Ignis says, snaking an arm around Noctis’s shoulders.

Noctis kisses him the way he’s wanted to for ten years. “To us.”


End file.
